Stepovich groaned. He knew what came next."Turned out your money was cursed, right?"

Ed grinned white. "Righto! How ever did you guess? So she told me to bring her all my life savings,and she'd lift the curse."

Stepovich knew the old con. It was familiar enough to any bunko squad. The crone would take his money,wrap it in a scarf and do some mumbo jumbo, and give him back the scarf packet, warning him to put it in a safe place and not disturb it for two weeks, nineteen days, two months or whatever. Had to give the curse-lifting magic time to work. And by the time the gull opened his little package, and found the neatly cut strips of newspapers. Madam Moria would be three states away. He'd even heard of one sap who opened the packet early, and went back to confront the gypsy. That fortune teller must have been one smooth talker, because she convinced her gull that it was still the curse at work, and now he would have to bring her more money to add to the packet before the curse-lifting charm could work. Damn fool had,too. Bunko squad had a laugh riot over that one.

"Then what happened?"

"Then at her suggestion, I gave her all the cash I had on me right then, and she wrapped it and told me she'd hold it for me."

"And?"

"I went back earlier tonight, and let her give me her whole spiel again. Then I ripped open my shirt and showed her a wire taped to my chest and told her she was busted. Then I told her that maybe I could see my way to go easy on her if she could give us a little help with something else, something gypsy related. I left her alone to think for awhile."

Stepovich glanced up at the dark windows. "And you really think she's still there?"

"She'll be there."

"What makes you think so?"

"Her face when I dropped the name Cynthia Kacmarcik. I'd say she has a personal stake in this one, Mike. Even more personal than getting herself off the hook."

The slams of the Cadillac doors were very loud on the quiet street. This was a poorer section of town,one that was the edge of the encroaching industrial district. Many of the storefront windows were blind and empty, soaped shut to the night. The surviving businesses had an air of desperation to them, the signs in the windows curling, their merchandise dusty. Litter whispered in the snowy gutters.

Ed pushed open the glass door that opened onto a narrow stairway. Stepovich followed him in past three dilapidated mailboxes dangling on the pockmarked wall. A single yellow bulb lit the stairway. The carpeting was worn through to the wood in places, and someone had left an empty pint bottle on one of the steps. Ed moved stealthy as an old ginger cat and Stepovich followed, trying not to let the stairs creak under his lesser weight. Ed scanned the narrow hall at the top of the stairs, then nodded to himself as much as to Stepovich. He knocked at the third door,and it opened almost immediately.

The young woman inside had chestnut hair and piercing grey eyes. She wore something Jenny would have referred to as a power suit. Like it hadn't been chosen because she liked it or because it suited her,but because it made her look like an executive. She was just a little too young to pull it off; it made her look a bit like Al Capone's little sister. Ed looked at her for a few seconds before shutting his mouth.

"Come right in," she said briskly, bitterly. "Do come right in. Ignore the fact that Ms. Sarinsky is an old woman and her health is poor and this isn't exactly business hours. Just come right in. And talk to me. I'm Ms. Peabody, from the Neighborhood Legal Coalition.And just for starters, I'd like to see your credentials."

Stepovich could feel his guts sliding down his legs.Ed didn't look like he was doing much better. He bobbed his head several times, and Stepovich had the feeling he would have whipped off his hat if he'd been wearing one. Ed crabbed into the room past her,and Stepovich followed him reluctantly, feeling as if he were walking into a lion's den.

Blankets and tapestries and woven stuff draped the ceilings and walls, giving the small room the feeling of a tent. Every color in the world seemed represented, with reds taking dominance. The stuffed chairs had feet carved like paws, and overflowed with cushions just as the several small tables in the room looked as if they were tottering under their burdens of bric-a-brac. Patterned carpets of various shapes and piles were layered underfoot, contributing to Stepovich's feeling of uncertain footing. Of Madam Moria there was no sign at all.

"Now, Mizz Peabody, I can see you're upset, and I think that really if we just talk, you'll find there's no basis for it." Ed began placatingly. Too placatingly. Stepovich watched Ms. Peabody's hackles rise.

"I believe I asked for your credentials," she observed icily. She looked from Ed to Stepovich sternly.Ed made a show of reaching inside his jacket. In fora dime, in for a dollar, Stepovich told himself, and flashed out his badge.

"Officer Stepovich, ma'am. I'm in charge of this investigation. Ed here is just my man. If you've got any quibbles with the way it's been conducted, I'm the one you need to talk to." He flipped the case shut,hoping she hadn't had time to get his badge number.

"Quibbles!" She puffed up like a blowfish. "Quibbles are not what I have. Officer Steppopick. What I have are grievances. Have you ever heard of entrapment? Of harrassment?" She paused. "But those are just small potatoes compared to the fact that I called (he police department today, and they had no record of any ongoing investigation, or any officer in charge."

Stepovich was suddenly sure that the mild indigestion he'd been experiencing was now a full-fledged ulcer. He made the tiny hand motion he'd always made when he wanted Ed to go first around a corner or check out an entryway. But this time he made it toward the door. Let Ed get the hell out, they'd have nothing to connect a retired cop to this. Ed took a step, but not toward the door. Closer to Stepovich. Leaning toward him, shaking his big stupid face like a mournful jackass and saying softly, "No way,buddy."

"Yes way, buddy."

Stepovich looked at Ms. Peabody, who was glaring triumphantly, like a vulture who'd found a dying mule in the desert. "Wait a minute," he said. "We have to talk."

"You can talk to me," she snapped. "I'm going to-"

"Wait," he repeated, putting as much force into it as he could. Before she had the chance to speak, he grabbed Ed's arm and walked him into a corner by a hanging tapestry of a green owl and a red raven standing over a wounded knight. "Listen, idiot," he said. "You got a pension to think about. I can-"

"You can get your ass fired, buddy. I'm not going to let you play lone wolf and pay for my screw up."

"Wolf?" The voice was,high and querulous, a granny wakened from her nap by noisy children. Fora moment, it seemed sourceless. Then the tapestry twitched, pushed aside by the tip of a questing metal rod. Both he and Ed instinctively stepped away, going into defensive postures, before recognizing it as the end of a cane. A woman slowly shouldered her way past the heavy hanging, revealing a doorway behind it. She was old, but vitally alive, her alertness independent of her failing senses or stiff body. Her dual canes, one black and twisted wood banded with iron, the other burnished aluminum, thumped her slowly into the center of the room.

"Ms. Sarinsky, as your volunteer advocate, I have to insist you let me handle this," Ms. Peabody advised her sternly. "Actually, it's better if you say nothing at all to these persons," she added in a condescending undertone.

"Madam Sarinsky," the old woman shrilled imperiously. "I am Madam Moria Sarinsky, seer of the unknown. And I know what is best here!"

Stepovich thought Ms. Peabody looked as ruffled as a church soloist who'd lit into the wrong selection."For the sake of preserving your legal rights, I advise-" she began again, but Madam Moria Sarinsky lilted her black cane and made a shooing motion as if the legal advocate were an annoying chicken.